American History 101
by KKGlinka
Summary: Idealism can take many universal forms and justice is only one of those. Catwoman shares another.


Title: American History 101  
Continuity: Based of the silent "Chase Me" short found on the Mystery of the Batwoman DVD. If you haven't seen it: Catwoman steals something from a Wayne party. He catches her at it, she takes off, Batman chases. They tear around the city, it's funny, it's cute. And then it's not.  
Warnings: No sex, but some violence and angst. puts hand to forehead, swoons As always, flames will be blithely ignored.

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**0 Seconds**

Like most idealists, Batman loved symbols. He flitted around town, stamping bats on everything he encountered, like a world-class graffiti artist proclaiming, "Batman wuz here!" So, Catwoman got this latest message: a kiss and a handcuff, loud and clear. My way or the highway, except in Gotham City it translated more as, "Obey me or go to jail." She imagined that every morning, he reassured himself, probably, that his lofty ideals justified his actions, sanctioned his judgments.

As the disorienting sense of deja-vu passed, she heard the cacophony of angry voices yelling at her to get on the ground and put her hands on her head. She jerked her arm, feeling the gouge of steel and hearing the jangle of forged alloy against chain link. She couldn't do both.

**7 Seconds**

"Don't move! Move and we drop you!" There was a scuffle as men began to climb the fence.

She glanced up from the ground at the collection of police squad cars, dousing her in xenon light through the chain link fence. All she saw were bright lights, shadows of men, shadows of guns, shadows of bars. They were playing it safe, though she was sure Batman was watching. Cops to her front, a fence in her way and a bat at her back. She looked at her wrist. The handcuff had no lock to pick. It was sealed. The cops would need to cut it off. Batman certainly did know how to lay a trap. He had eliminated her options down to obedience or obedience.

She realized the harsh rasping sound was her own breath.

That was the trouble with vigilantes. In assuming responsibility, they assumed authority not granted to them by the electorate. As a group, they seemed oblivious to 'all men are created equal' and lorded about with their money or powers. They got away with it, too, because people were desperate to have their heroes, their figureheads, their exceptions. She wished someone would explain to them that feudalism had gone out of style centuries ago.

He had no right or power to take away her choices. None. She spared a second to wonder how the most brilliant man she knew could make such a profoundly idiotic gamble. How could he forget that there was always a choice? No matter how perfect a plan, there was always a way out. Loosing everything, her money, her home, her proper social image because of one man's crusade, a glorified vendetta, had taught her that. It had taught her to find a way out, legal or not.

**21 Seconds**

She heard muffled thuds as two men dropped to the grass on either side of her.

She thought of jail and tasted bile in her mouth. She remembered her mind spinning faster with each day in that tiny concrete box, swirling until she was sure she would wake surrounded by padded walls. There were nights she couldn't sleep, but stared at the stone texture, clawing at her own skin and remembering free fall and the force of the wind blowing past a skyscraper.

Each time, it was the same. She thought about keeping her head down, being good and it tasted the same. For a moment, her stomach did a twist but, no, she refused to vomit in front of the police. She was no coward, not like he never quite said.

She heard the condemnation every time he answered any of her challenges with, "You're a criminal." He managed to pack every distaste of fear, cowardice and greed into that self-assuring statement. She tucked herself up into a crouch and focused on breathing. Everything had its place in his world and she was tired of this merry-go-round, where he made assumptions because they fit how he wanted to see her, where he assigned her role.

He didn't have that authority. She fisted her cuffed hand, pulling against it, bracing herself to stand.

She considered again going back to jail, being docile, years added to her existing sentence. Something cold and slimy crawled up her back, up her neck and she shuddered. He had no concept of real fear, the kind that surrounded and oppressed, the kind that crushed hope. He had no concept of terminal failure. He thought he had already won and her only regret was that she couldn't see his face.

His way or else? He wasn't the only one who could mete out lessons in ideology. If that was the only thing he could understand, she would take 'else'. His choices weren't such and she wasn't about to start doing what he wanted. She had her own plans.

**28 Seconds**

Turning her back to him, where he hid in his shadows, she faced the fence and waited. She inhaled, then exhaled slowly. She counted and slowed the beat of her heart. A calm numbness settled over her, muting the noise, as she ignored how he had abused her affection and trust. He had sabotaged the game, ruined what had started as a rooftop romp, and made his position clear. She would return the favor.

**31 Seconds**

Two officers, more experienced and familiar with the costumed villains of Gotham approached her from opposing sides. The others covered the two with their weapons. They knew about Catwoman, that she didn't kill, that she didn't resist arrest, that she was just some wacky activist who went to extremes. She was the nice one. They knew her behavioral patterns. They probably forgot that one definition of insanity was being trapped within irrational behavioral patterns.

She wasn't trapped. She wasn't one of the crazies.

**47 Seconds**

She continued to hold still and relaxed her shoulders. If she moved too suddenly now, she would be shot, injured enough to fall down but not killed. Her claws might not do enough damage. Both variables were too wild, so she remained patient. When the man to her right was close enough, she slid directly forward, turned his gun hand inwards, twisted, extended and he fell on his hyper-extended elbow. She had his gun by the time she back-kicked the second officer, heard the meaty crunch of facial bone, then the crumpled drop.

She felt the wind blow, whining through the links.

**49 Seconds**

Quickly, scruffing the first officer, she dragged him closer, positioning him between her and the fence. As long as she kept her hands out of view, Batman wouldn't dare attack. As long as she kept the gun pointed at the officer, she held the rest at bay. Unlike the Joker, Cobblepot or any other self-styled super villain, she wasn't known for murder sprees, so everyone waited, unwilling to risk the inaccuracy of handgun fire in the play of jagged nighttime shadows.

She fingered the pistol. Batman hated guns. To him, they were the embodiment of murder, killing at its most efficient. So, today, she would use a gun because it would be most appropriate. The message had to be loud and clear, with no room for rationalization. She checked to make sure it was chambered and the safety was off. Good. The clip held seven more bullets, assuming it was full, but there were more cops than that. She was pleased that her hand didn't shake.

**1 Minute 3 Seconds**

The officer on the ground gasped as she waved the pistol in his face with seeming negligence. His face went tight, a mask of discolored red, blue, white and black. A muscle ticked at his temple.

She crouched over him, pinning his chest with one knee and his arm with another. She smiled faintly. "It's customary to have a last request, right?"

He swallowed, eyeing the service pistol.

She held it loosely, keeping her elbows tucked in, the gun pointed up more than forward. "Answer me."

"Yes," he whispered. His face beaded with sweat.

"You know your American History?"

"...yes." His eyes narrowed.

The air hissed and she lurched a bit as Batman's bola wrapped around her arms and torso. He was right on schedule and she hoped that he was pleased with himself. Now, the muzzle of the pistol was locked firmly under her chin, pointed straight up.

**1 Minute 23 Seconds**

"Good, because I think he missed some." The officer's eyes went wide when she grinned, leaning close to whisper. "Pass something on for me. Tell the big guy in the cape, from one idealist to another, live free or die."

Loud and -


End file.
